Five Years
by Fridgeworks
Summary: Before he could say more the door had closed with a gentle click and Alex was left standing alone in an otherwise empty hallway.  That was the last time he would see Tom Harris for five years. Alex/Tom centric. Maybe slash. T for possibilities.
1. Departures

Alex grinned and laughed as he punched Tom playfully in the shoulder. "You're such an idiot." Tom shot him a dirty look and retaliated with a foot placed smartly before Alex's shin.

"No, _you're_ such an-hey, you can't do that!" Alex hopped over the foot and pushed Tom in a nearby mud puddle, the smaller boy flailing to keep his balance. "That's not fair!"

Alex shrugged and adjusted the strap of his pack on his shoulder. "Life's not fair, mate, life's not fair." He sobered enough to say the line with meaning then laughed again and held out a hand to help up the sour faced Tom. "Just trying to help."

Tom accepted the hand with a wary look and allowed Alex to pull him up safely and right him on his feet, shaking his hand from his friends grip when he was safe. "No help needed, mate, I'm enjoying my last hour as a dumb twenty-year old best I can before I become a hopeless lugabout like you." He stuck his tongue out childishly and clumsily dodged another strike from the palm of Alex.

The two continued the banter and shoving all the way to their destination, where Tom straightened his back at the door, child behavior gone, and Alex shot him a careful look of consideration. "I know you don't want me to ask again, but are you sure…?" he let the words hang in the air unspoken and dampening the playful air quickly dissipating into the past.

Tom didn't look at him and squared his shoulder resolutely. "Yes, Alex, I'm sure." He said with courage in his eyes and steel in his voice. There would be no convincing him otherwise, Alex realized then and was forced to nod in support.

Least he could do was support his friend when he needed it, even if he thought he was making the wrong decision. Tom was his only real friend at the moment, Alex figured he should try and sustain that best he could, and if that included helping him make the most important decision of his life, he would.

"I'm going in, Alex, you following?" Tom broke Alex out of his resigned stupor, hand on the door handle and looking at him expectantly.

"Yeah, I suppose I am." He smiled a strained smile and Tom smiled the same back before turning and pulling the door open, holding it for Alex and going in himself when it became obvious that Alex wasn't going to let him do that.

Catching the door as Tom released it, Alex took one last, yearning look outside and desperately wished Tom wouldn't do this to him. "Alex, quit loitering, _come on_." At the pleading in his friend's voice Alex turned and took the few steps it took to be fully inside the building. He let the door close listlessly behind him and with slight hesitation hurried to catch up with the determined gate Tom set.

Tom was already at the front desk, hands on counter and staring down the equally challenging secretary when Alex reached him. "I called before I came here this morning, what do you mean I don't have any record?" Tom demanded and the secretary made a helpless gesture with her hands, a gesture that meant she had no intention of helping the slight male.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't have a Tom Harris listed for an interview. If you could take a seat by the wall I can call my boss and ask." She offered not at all apologetically. Alex sighed, and stepped up beside Tom, giving the woman a smile. He was glad he'd made sure to call ahead in case Tom really did go through with this, and wouldn't be remembered.

"Excuse me, M'am, but is there by any chance an Alex Rider listed?" he asked politely, a smile as fake as the brand named clutch beside her hand. She blinked and took a look at the computer screen before her, fingers tapping a few keys on the board before she looked up again.

"Yes, there is, actually, for 2:30." She sounded surprised, Alex smiled and didn't look at Tom, but felt the burning gaze drilling into the side of his head. "May I presume that you are Mr. Rider?"

Alex nodded and slipped a card across the counter, hiding it from Tom's view as he did so, allowing the woman a chance to read what it said and register the importance before taking it back and returning it to his back pocket. "That is correct, now may my friend and I pass?" she nodded, flustered and as Alex brushed past Tom to walk down one of the branching hallways, hearing his friend quickly take chase, the woman grabbed her phone, dialed and spoke urgent, hushed words into the mouthpiece.

"What did you do, Alex?" Tom demanded. "I thought I told you not to interfere!" he grabbed Alex's arm and pulled him back from his fast paced walk. Alex looked into Tom's blue eyes when he spoke, trying to make his friend understand.

"She wouldn't have let you in by yourself, Tom, you're too much of a nobody in a world like this. I had to pull some strings, I'm sorry, but it was necessary." He held up a finger for silence when Tom opened his mouth to protest angrily. "All I did was get you the audience you wanted, nothing more, I hold no sway in the interviewer's decision. I don't even know who the guy is." he offered a guilty smile, hoping that would appease his friend enough.

Tom looked at him carefully for a few seconds before nodding. "You better not have, Alex, or you would have another thing coming." He threatened. "I don't want to get this job because my best friend is MI6's best agent." Alex laughed they continued walking.

They were silent for the rest of the journey, a relatively short one in terms of real time but for the best friends it felt longer than the years they'd been compatriots. Such was a walk of fate.

The silence was broken when they stopped in silent unison before the door Tom was to enter through, Alex turned to Tom and grinned. "Well, Tom, now it's your turn, make sure my favor pays off. I'd hate to see you lose the job and my social standing." He clapped a hand to Tom's shoulder suddenly serious. "Please, Tom, do your best, yeah?"

Blue eyes crinkled and thin lips smiled without showing teeth as Tom clasped Alex's shoulder in turn. "I would never let you down, Alex, and I never will." He murmured and with a decisive nod turned, breaking the moment, and knocked once on the door.

A voice within, stern and stony, very similar to the voice of Alan Blunt, Alex thought sardonically, called out. "Come in."

And Tom twisted the door knob and opened the door. He walked in without looking back and the only glimpse Alex could catch of the man seated behind the desk that would decide where Tom's life was going was of a black suit and black eyes, hard as stones. Before he could say more the door had closed with a gentle click and Alex was left standing alone in an otherwise empty hallway.

That was the last time he would see Tom Harris for five years. And the next time they would be on very separate sides of the law.

* * *

><p>Possible beginning for a new story Tom and Alex centric. By the way, it would be Tom on the right side of the law, I like cliche angst Alex too much. But would it really be angst Alex? Or a facade, one of many? Would Tom really be on the side of the law? Egh...<p>

Anyways, still not updating Great Companion, can't get up the strength and motivation. But I don't want it to become another one of those stories never completed...I'll get around...egh...

Y'all should listen to Loud Pipes by Ratatat, it's intense, and makes this story read all intense. Like the trailer to an action movie of action. Hohoho, I'm so funny. (You don't have to laugh, I'm letting you off this time, I agree that was incredibly stupid.)

Gosh I love Pandora, finding all this music I don't even know but like. Wow. I'm sleepy.

I'm gonna play pocket frogs now, because I know how to waste my life. And that's getting pissed at pixel generated fictional frogs that won't hatch. Figure it's better than getting pissed at poisoned/paralyzed/infatuated/confused/sleeping pokemon and informing them that it's their fault their dying and not helping when I have the means. I'm such a Gary. *huge sigh*

G'night then.


	2. Freedom

The morning air was crisp and clear and the jogging path, usually clogged with fitness enthusiasts and lackadaisical walkers, was scarce of either. Those who did jog were in pairs and chatted leisurely, but for a few and in particular one lone figure huffing and puffing his way to pleasant calves.

Dressed in sweat pants and an old shirt, hair mussed beyond the excuse exercise would provide and with ratty sneakers, he appeared for all the world to have just woken and one of the more hopeless cases, the half-hearted dieters.

Squinting his eyes against the cold sunlight, the jogger could argue against any such assumptions on his being from his appearance. He'd been jogging since daybreak a few hours past and, if the unceasing in his stride was any indication, he wasn't planning on ending any time soon.

But plans have a way of being interfered in by such things as phones and other people. As was the case for this relentless jogger, broken from concentration by the sudden, merciless vibration of his pocket.

With a sigh, the jogger slowed his pace to a fast walk and fished the buzzing phone out, taking a glance at the caller ID and changing face immediately. The phone with flipped open and pressed to his ear with no dalliance, and a breathy 'Hello?' was all he could quite manage in his state.

"We need you down at the station, stat, some bank official from the—oh hell, just get your ass down here." A voice barked on the other line then closed the line. The jogger was still for a moment, and perhaps time stopped with him, such an active person he was that rarely he wasn't moving, even in his sleep.

Then time sped up and he was shoving the phone back in his pocket and sprinting the rest of the length of the course to the parking lot and his car. Barely taking the time to wipe himself down with the towel in the passengers seat and doing so distractedly, he appeared feverish as he drove the ten minutes it took to arrive at the station within the speed limit.

Parking his car haphazardly and almost forgetting to pull his keys from the ignition, the jogger hurried to the glass doors of the station to have the doors open for him by a clearly impatient superior.

"There are times when it's okay to go a few over the speed limit, Harris, you don't have to be such a goody two shoes all the time." She told him snappishly, then shushed him when he opened his mouth to apologize. "Oh hush, we don't have time to discuss morals, move." She set to ushering him through the halls as though he'd never set before foot within to a door bearing her name on a bronze plaque.

As her hand went to the door he felt a sudden rush of self-consciousness, dressed in old clothes and frazzled looking as he was, sweat still in patches all over his face and arms. But before he could protest the door with flicked open and he pushed inside, his superior following and closing the door behind them both. "Do excuse the delay, Mr. Daniels, my men can be…_too_ moralistic sometimes."

The jogger didn't hear the man's pleasant reply as he looked him up and down, filing away little information. Dressed in a suit he seemed uncomfortable in, the man that sat in the chair across from the woman's desk sat like the world rested upon his shoulders but had a countenance that testified against any such claim.

The jogger was intrigued and so sat when he was offered, eager to lean who this man was and what he wanted from him. All worries over appearance flew out the window, he seemed the type of man who understood time constraints, and the jogger was all ears, not registering his superior's presence at her desk his attention so centered on this contradictory man.

"Hello, Mr. Harris," the man said with a smile as pleasant as his voice, appearing to all the world a well-dressed businessman with the charm for the job. The jogger wasn't fooled by the skilled act, but wasn't worried over the reason. "I'm sure you're wondering a few things, such as my own identity and the reason why I'm here, but first I'd like to jar your memory a bit. Is that okay?"

The jogger nodded, didn't seem to be any harm in remembering anything. Why not? "Certainly, ask away." He said with an implied shrug, it wouldn't be professional to actually complete the action.

"Do you remember, from your childhood, a boy named Alex Rider?" the man wasted no time or words. The jogger's interest rocketed.

He leaned forward in his seat to prop his elbows on his knees then sat back again, remembering some decorum in his state. "He was my best friend, yes." The first thought that came to mind was: What has he done this time? "What has he done?"

The man smiled again. "That's the problem, he hasn't done anything." He crossed one leg over the other, preparing himself and the jogger adjusted accordingly, folding his arms. "We know that the last time you were with Alex Rider was before your interview for the Chelsea Police force. He dropped off the face of the Earth during an incident in which he was due home and…never arrived. Has he made any form of contact with you, is what I am here for."

Tom Harris would have folded his arms had he not already, and settled for a thoughtful nod. That explained it. The man was from MI6 and Alex had still been working for them after he disappeared from Tom's life. "Haven't heard a word from him since he left after helping me get this post. Always figured he was off saving the world or something, no other reason why he wouldn't at least send a postcard." He didn't see the harm in telling the truth, the man didn't seem to have any bad intentions.

The man nodded and smiled apologetically. "Well then, I apologize for taking you from your exercise. I'll take my leave now, if that's alright with you, M'am." He directed his last statement to the stern faced woman behind the desk. She inclined her head dismissively.

"Quite alright, I'm sorry he couldn't be of any help." She managed a strained smile, she didn't do so very often. "But if there's anything else do feel welcome, we don't get many missing persons cases often." Tom could tell by the man's smile that he was prepared to kindly reject any offer for assistance, until her offer came.

Then his face was thoughtful and his eyes shifted to Tom. "Actually…I here that Mr. Harris is quite skilled as a detective?" If they could, Tom's eyebrows would have hit the roof. Was the man really propositioning that he help?

Apparently so. Tom's superior nodded and smiled again. "One of our best," she said with equally rare pride and praise in her voice. "I would have accepted him without the recommendation on the part of your man had I not received one."

Tom's head was beginning to slowly spin. The cool face that he'd been perfecting over the years since immature boyhood on the cusp of manhood was beginning to melt away as it struck him that he might just be able to work on a case to find his missing best friend _and_ not be a complete deadweight.

"We can't guarantee a return date." The man warned. "I wouldn't want to take a valuable asset off your hands in case something happens." Were she not in a more professional setting she would have snorted derisively, Tom could just tell, and instead settled for straightening her shoulders.

"He is a valuable member of the team, but that is not saying that he is the only valuable asset." She replied quite primly, as though the suggestion that everything rode on Tom's shoulders was a foolish assumption. She was doing it so he wouldn't get a swelled head, he knew.

It didn't work, he also knew. Just having received as little praise as her tone had earlier given, from such a woman as she, had already done its magic and Tom was practically beaming.

He composed himself when the man looked back at him, not completely composed though, having a small smile still on his face. "Would you be willing to join myself a few others in the search for your best friend? I cannot guarantee your safety, or a salary."

Tom was already nodding before he'd finished the question and moved to the warning.

"I'll do whatever it takes if that's what it will take." He affirmed, standing up when the man did, the woman following close behind.

"I'll tell the men when they get in that you're on extended leave for a mandatory vacation. Undetermined if you'll ever return. You will receive no salary." She informed Tom succinctly, staying on her side of the desk.

Tom nodded, barely able to contain his excitement. "Yes, M'am, I understand, M'am. Thank you—"

"Silence." She barked and he fell silent obediently, buzzing with energy even as his lips snapped shut. She turned to the man. "Good day, Mr. Daniels, I wish you good fortune in the search for this Alex Rider."

Mr. Daniels bowed his head. "_Thank you_, M'am, for allowing us the use of Mr. Harris. Good day indeed." He said with the pleasant smile of his when he straightened.

"Thanks, M'am, I'll be back. Tell Lorenzo we'll have to postpone our game, won't you?" Tom grinned at the unimpressed woman. "I'll do my best, make the Chelsea Police Department proud."

She just gave him a look that said _You had better._

* * *

><p>Whew. Will you look at that.<p>

This update is for giverofgrace for giving me the rude awakening I so desperately needed. Having been lost in a sea of homework and church work and after school work I've been justifying not updating. And the review giverofgrace sent me, so full of blunt reality, set that straight.

So here it is! Yay! Second chapter! It will indeed be a 'OMGosh they're different sides and Tom is bat crap awesome and Alex...Alex needs to get a hobby' story. But perhaps not to those exact parameters...:D

Thanks for all the reviews for the first chapter and I cannot trully express my regret that I couldn't update sooner and gratefullness that someone had the balls to make me feel like a reprimanded child again. (Justly so!)

Love you all and thanks again!

-Fridgeworks.


	3. Silence

There was a silence surrounding him. A silence no one else heard, but was his alone to struggle vainly against. Every moment of every waking hour he spent straining to hear the sound that was meant to be spilling forth from moving lips, knowing that it was there and yet he was wholly incapable of hearing it.

He was forced to read the lips instead, to use his eyes and pretend there was audio when all he was getting was, sometimes incomprehensible, literature. It hadn't been sudden, the relapse of his hearing into a state of nonexistence, it had slowly, stealthily deteriorated and one morning he woke up late because his alarm wasn't able to startle him awake.

The doctors said he'd listened to music too loudly as a teen, must have constantly for it to have gone so soon in his adulthood. They'd listed the possible causes and he'd chosen loud music, because the true cause, what they'd listed for listing's sake and not as truly plausible (They believed), would only incriminate him.

Every moment he was forced to submit to his condition he struggled to hear, stubbornly ignoring the disability claims the doctors gave him, fighting to remain normal and sane. He commuted every day from his apartment through the most crowded and loud places he could find and worked in a place guaranteed to be filled with chatter during lunch and dinner.

He avoided like the plague those places where silence was encouraged, when a low murmur was stretching the decibel allowance. Places like libraries were now the bane of his existence.

The drive to survive that had aided him so often in the past, in the very situations that caused his deafness through constant gunshots and screaming and explosions, pushed him to learn how to read lips and admit reluctantly his lacking hearing. People rarely noticed, he'd gotten quite good at it, and he was confident after a year of coping and hard struggle that he was finally acclimating to normality.

Alex Rider should never have been so sure.

After years of coexisting with them, he'd grown accustomed to singling out the government agents in a crowd, distinct in the degrees difference between true civilians and themselves, the manner in which they acted and held themselves. When he'd first taken back his life he saw them as a threat, believing that every man and woman he determined an agent out to get him.

He would spend hours stressing over his own safety and the foolproof cover he'd been given, thinking a leak had sprung in the information network and he was about to be taken back. He'd slowly come to realize that such thoughts were fallacy and that he was indeed safe, that those he saw were commuting just as he was, that as long as he pretended to be normal so would they.

He liked to think of it as himself playing the ultimate game of wolf in sheep's clothing, pretending to be a sheep not just for the sheep but also for the other wolves. He'd gotten quite good at the game, at times believing himself just another sheep until a reflex jerk beyond sheep capabilities reminded him of his true nature and the latent wolf under all the fluffy wool and deaf ears.

On the tube he tried to stay clear of the government agents and it was fairly easy, they weren't in huge numbers and not actively trying to find him. Alex just had to blend with the rest of the sheep and avoid eye contact as much as possible, it was simple and worked. No one tried to socialize on the tube, everyone was an introvert as much as possible in public among strangers and that made Alex's life infinitely easier.

He wore headphones to further repel social interaction and give reason for unresponsiveness is someone was indeed trying to get his attention, which had happened on the rare occasion and never failed to get Alex jumpy and skittish for the rest of the day. The first time someone had caught his attention with a tap on the shoulder, to tell him that he'd dropped a coin and hand it to him, Alex had to skip work that day to calm the nerves flared up by the simple encounter.

The commute was usually calm and stress free for the most part after he'd grown used to society again.

There was always a part of him, however, that always suspected foul play, a part of his brain he pushed back in order to function normally. It was because of that part always on the lookout, always waiting for the day everything went to where the sun don't shine, that Alex wasn't wholly unprepared the day he caught a 'civilian' following his every twitch with a gaze too sharp to be mistaken for bored observation or coincidence.

He didn't recognize the person and pretended not to notice, even silently admonishing the agent for making their watching him so obvious. _I'm deaf not blind._ He snorted, pulling out the music player in his pocket and changing the song for pretense. _Not that you would know, I suppose. _Unless they'd accessed his records from when he'd gone regularly for check-ups after his condition was first discovered.

Which would mean that his cover was blown and something had to be very wrong for his cover to be blown for it had been created and enforced by the most trustworthy and intelligent man in MI6, a man who would never give up the information willingly. Alex twitched in his seat, resisting a jolt upright. _If they've done something to Smithers-. _

Suddenly Alex was filled with a nervous, jittery energy. He fought vainly against his fingers tapping on his thighs and began looking everywhere but at his watcher. He knew how suspicious he's suddenly begun to look, could only imagine civilian onlooker's thoughts regardless of his watcher's and so when granted the opportunity to evacuate at the next stop he took it, seamlessly merging with the hurrying crowd and allowing their momentum to pull him.

The crowd began dispersing almost immediately after going s length out the doors of the tube and fanned out in every direction, Alex felt almost like the center of a very disorganized synchronized swim as people battled against other crowds away from him. Subtly, Alex scanned his surroundings and was immediately disheartened to find his watcher was buying a newspaper not five meters away from him.

Hoping the time it took to pay the cashier was enough of a cover for a hasty retreat, Alex hurried for the exit in the opposite direction of his watcher. But he changed plans as he hurried, the exit was too obvious so without missing a beat Alex ducked into the closest bathroom and shut himself into the stall closest to the entrance. Then he rolled up his jeans and quickly toed off his shoes to remove his socks and replace his shoes on his now bare feet, scuffing the white front of each shoe against the wall for good measure. To finish Alex unzipped his jeans, yanked them down and sat down heavily on the toilet with an equally heavy exhalation.

Then he waited. Heart pounding and mouth dry, jaw clenched and teeth hurting. It was moments like this that he wished he could hear, listen for footsteps and voices instead of having to risk peeking under the dividers and stall doors for the polished and utterly businessman shoes he'd seen his watcher wearing, which anyone could be wearing during the rush hour.

He knew there was a good chance of his watcher having followed him into the bathroom and silently reprimanded himself for the rash decision, had he exited there would at least be places to run. In a bathroom he'd have to count on being able to take out his opponent or at least making it to the exit first. Alex checked his watch and sighed inaudibly, he'd been in the stall a good 8 minutes and if he wanted to make it to his shift fashionably late and hope to not get fired he'd have to catch the next train in 5 minutes.

Or he could just stay in the stall until someone realized that he'd never left and accept the lost job for peace of mind. A snort escaped him. _Peace of mind. There's something I haven't had since I was 14._ This encounter just made him 10 times more paranoid, simply avoiding confrontation wasn't going to help his sanity. He allowed his head to impact softly on the stone wall he was given the privilege of having for occupying the first stall then checked his watched after a period of trying to regain his composure.

2 minutes until the next train. Alex made his decision and stood, pulling and zipping up his pants and not bothering to unroll the bottoms, shoving his socks in his back pocket. Reaching for the latch on the stall door Alex had a moment of panic, feeling and believing for a second that his watcher was on the opposite side of the door, waiting for him to finally emerge so he could drag him back to MI6 or even another agency/organization.

But a quick look down at the space between the stall door and the floor proved no presence worth worrying over directly opposite the door and Alex recovered his senses, resolutely clicking the latch open and pushing the door out. Without looking at the rest of the bathroom for fear of who he would see, irrationally so against his mind's urging to see if his watcher was one of the inhabitants, Alex shoved his way out the door.

Immediately sliding into the largest crowd he could find, Alex made his way to his train, avoiding eye contact at all costs with anyone around him and sitting immediately in a seat with an easy vantage point to a text screen that would tell him when he was at his real stop. It was only then, safely situated, that Alex risked a look for his watcher.

He was nowhere to be found.

The sudden lift of the pressure on his shoulders and the rush of relief that replaced it made Alex dizzy and he closed his eyes for a second to rest his head on the cold glass behind him and release a shaky breath. Such a close call.

That was certainly a first time for him, discovering that his cover was blown at least for someone out there. Hopefully that did not mean that everyone knew who he was masquerading as. A sliver of tension found its way into his jaw. Hopefully.

Then he hissed in amusement and rubbed furiously at his now sleepy eyelids, abruptly relieved stress did that to a person, with the palms of his hands. Hopefully was a strange sentiment for someone like him, who'd always depended on luck and skill, not hope, to get him through every struggle. Hope was something he'd felt on his first missions, hope that he'd make it out safely, hope that he'd see Jackie again.

Hope left after a while. When he realized that he was never getting out of the espionage business, because once you were in there was no way in the 7 levels of hell that you were getting out. No mercy from God beyond death or becoming a complete cripple would stop MI6 from using an agent after they'd been recruited. In fact, becoming a crippled could help them, as being young had been a surprise for people and aided Alex's cover, so would likely a wheelchair.

The element of surprise, Alex grinned with his eyes closed and head still against the glass, palms retracting and pressing against his thighs. He'd been quite good at the element of surprise. Someone jostled his legs as they passed and his eyes shot open, head whipping forward to pinpoint the cause of the touch. A woman in business gear apologized, standing in front of him because there was nowhere else to sit or stand. Alex nodded with a tight lipped smile and took a quick look around the car, making sure.

Another glance up at the text screen told him he was two stops away from his and he settled back against the glass again. But he kept his eyes open and adjusted the headphones, pulling out the music player to change the song again and wishing ruefully he could hear what was playing.

The ride after that was uneventful, he stayed alert for the watcher and at his stop made his way quickly to the nearest exit. It was a quick walk to the café he worked at and a glance at his watch told him he was about 20 minutes late. He cringed inwardly, oh yes he was going to hear it from the manager, who'd been iffy on hiring him in the first place and was always seeming to be waiting for an excuse to fire him. He'd proven himself able soon enough, and the owner was one of those saps who couldn't help but support the normalcy endeavors of a cripple.

Alex knew he couldn't get fired for being 20 minutes late, especially with the owner on his side against the manager, but he didn't like the undue attention it would get him. People would remember him more ably, his coworkers would be more likely to talk about him to anyone that asked and his manager didn't seem like the type to be adverse to selling him out if there was any cause.

So Alex steeled himself mentally for the barking his would receive and entered the café, making his way quickly to the 'Employees Only' door and entering to find—big surprise—his manager waiting for him. "You're late."

Alex nodded, replying carefully, because he couldn't tell anymore what decibel his own voice was at. "There was a problem at the tube, won't happen again, Mike." _Not likely, but he's no way of knowing._ Mike rose his eyebrows and Alex imagined him humming appraisingly, watching his lips carefully so he wouldn't miss a word.

"It had better not happen again, Ryan, or I'll have to take into consideration your devotion to this job." Then Mike brushed past on his way out, too closely as his shoulder impacted with Alex's and sent the blond hitting the wall with a small 'oof'. If the manager apologized Alex didn't hear.

Rubbing his shoulder, Alex shot the closing door a sour look and went to his cubby to switch out shirts for regulation black with the café insignia and dark blue apron. He took off the headphone and switched off the music player, depositing both into the cubby and made sure he had all the tools he would need then emerged back into the fray of the busy café to start working immediately.

The day was no more busy than usual, but after all the stress he'd been under it was relieving to focus on an unrelated subject wholly and immerse himself in his work. It took all of him to catch everything people said and always be on his toes in case someone called his name and he wasn't looking in their direction to notice, usually another server on the floor would be helpful and point him out subtly. For all the work it involved, compared to the tension he'd experienced in the station bathroom, Alex found work refreshing.

The luck that ensured his survival as a teen spy was taking a vacation, it seemed. Or had permanently left him to his fate. An hour into his shift, Alex was really getting into the flow of the café, he couldn't help but be proud of himself for how well he was doing. He was beginning to let his guard slip a little and relax, and so reached a newly seated table with a broad grin and greeting on his lips. The greeting never made it out as Alex froze.

Brown eyes were caught in tunnel vision, he saw only the man who'd been watching him so attentively on the tube. It was a miracle the pad of paper didn't leave his hands and fall to the floor, grip loosening considerably as a shocked slackness took control of his body. His mind struggled to gain control, but in its stunned state it was doing a piss poor job of it.

"…Weh-welcome…" He wasn't even sure if the words were audible, if they had even left his parted lips as his shuddering mind told him. The man smiled greeting and the tunnel vision snapped, leaving Alex capable of looking at the other occupants of the table. "My…name is Ryan…and I'll be your server to—oh God no." The identities of the others at the table registered and before even he himself realized it, Alex was running out of the café.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God. No nonononononononono, that can't be. They wouldn't. Why? Why? Why was Ben Bloody Daniels and Tom Fucking Harris seated at the same table as the—the __**watcher**__? _He ran until his lungs burned and his legs buckled under him, slumping against the closest wall to clutch his head in agony. The information was leaked. They knew where he was, who he was pretending to be. They brought Ben into it, they brought _Tom_ into it. Alex took a shuddering breath to calm himself but it only prompted the sobs that startled even him, heaving sobs that, coupled with his frazzled, exhausted appearance and the tears that welled up in his eyes, ensured that passersby would skirt him and small children would stare.

They were going to take him back, they'd done something to Smithers, they would find out what he'd done. They would make him take missions again. They had Tom. He wouldn't be able to resist. _They had Tom_. Gravity pushed him down the wall into a sitting, fetal position. He was sure he looked pathetic, broken even, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Because he was pretty sure it was true.

He was pathetic.

* * *

><p>Ooooh, Alex. You poor, poor man. I've had the idea for a while to have him deaf because of extended and ruthless exposure to gunfireexplosions/crap. This was the prefect opportunity. That and make him a totally pathetic wad of patheticness.

I made this chapter extra long, in comparison to the last at least, because I love you guys. : D

I've only received good reviews for this story and that really helps when I'm writing the next chapter. I love the reviews that give me pointers, I'm by no means perfect and write these chapters at night when I can get away with it, so I love criticism! As long as it's constructive, of course.

Anywho, thanks to everyone that's put this story on alert and who has favorited and especially to those who have reviewed! I know how difficult it can be to think of something to write beyond 'update faster' and those thoughtful reviews are a godsend.

You guys are too good to me. Hahaha. : D

'Til next time!

~Fridgeworks


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